


the raven (has had her say)

by CriticalBone



Series: worship is a sweeter taste (than prayers from empty churches) [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussions of Fantasy Religion, F/M, Lorenzo-Typical Violence in chapter 1, M/M, Molly's dead but it's not so bad, Multi, Slow Burn, Various NPCs - Freeform, nsfw for later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-22 00:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17652965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CriticalBone/pseuds/CriticalBone
Summary: This isn't the first time that Molly's died. It's the first time it's meant more than just a grave.





	the raven (has had her say)

**Author's Note:**

> I saw those jokes about Molly being railed by Vax in the afterlife and ran with it. But slow burn makes everything better, right?
> 
> WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: There's discussion about what the FUCK Lorenzo did. It isn't pretty. Most of it is just the amount of people he killed (a lot) and how he's a madman with a lust for blood.

He dies, as everyone dies. It is as glorious as he had dreamed, dying for friends against an enemy he knows will not remain for long.

 

As everyone does, he wakes up again, where he died. Molly blinks again, and realises that it’s not quite where he died. The colours are too muted, and the Moon is overhead, stars swirling around it like a halo, but it’s as bright as day. Molly stands, on edge, eyes searching for any sign of the people he fought alongside - Nott’s distinctive ears, the flash of monk robe blue, maybe the flick of a worn brown coat - but it’s all gone, as if the battle never happened, as if a fresh snowfall had covered the blood and wagon tracks and corpses and-

 

That’s right. He died too.

 

Peace settles over Molly. This must be the afterlife, then, a reflection of the mortal world, similar but just a little off to make you aware of the difference.

 

There’s a sound, a beating of feathers and a soft crunch as snow is crushed beneath a boot, and Molly spins, coat flying as he turns to face his company. It’s an elf - a half-elf, he mentally corrects, taking in the curves of their nose and jaw and the softness of their gloved hands, oilslick hair and wings framing a pale face, which is currently adorned with a smirk. Molly isn’t quite sure if he wants to punch it off or kiss it off.

 

“Mollymauk Tealeaf.” The half-elf leers, eyeing Molly as he moves, hands flying to the swords at his waist.

 

“The fuck are you?”

 

  
"I am here to introduce you to the afterlife, finally. You've been very difficult to keep in the ground."

 

"Is there a problem with that?"

 

  
The half-elf laughs once. It’s more of a crow, really, birdlike and sharp. Their form flickers into something wholly inhuman. "Oh, you really are fun. Come on, She wants to see you."

 

Molly's eyes narrow. "She?"

 

The half-elf walks, not explaining, and Molly's curiosity gets the better of him, so he follows, eyes boring holes into the winged back. "Who're you?"

 

  
The half-elf turns back, smirk still firmly affixed oh his face. "My name doesn't really matter, does it?"

 

  
"You know mine."

 

  
"Call me Vax." The name is familiar, and the knowledge that all of this - the name, the wings, the _godsdamned smirk_ \- mean something makes Molly grimace.

 

Vax blinks a few times, waiting for Molly to react. Molly kind of wants to, to ask who he was, what he did, why he has raven wings spilling around his shoulders like a cloak. "That's a shitty elf name." Molly says, and Vax coughs, choking.

  
"That, _fuck_ , what a reaction." He laughs, an actual laugh and not that bird impression he did before, and rubs at his face. “You really are something, Mollymauk.”

  
  
“Nice to know I’m finally appreciated.” Molly replies, watching as Vax moves behind one tree and fails to appear on the other side. He stops, and frowns. “Uh, what?”

 

“If you’re going to stand there for the next millenia let me know now, I have shit to do!” Molly walks around the tree, about eight feet or so away, and the frown falls away as he sees the faint shimmering of the air behind the tree. It feels odd, like the impending end of a novel, or the feeling when a bard’s long-winded tale is coming to close. Finite, final. He reaches out one hand, and the magic swirls around his fingers, a soft blue-black, comforting and welcoming.

 

_Take your time_ , it whispers, soft and feminine.

 

Molly breathes once, and walks through.

 

The earth shifts beneath his feet, clicking into a new formation like gears in a timepiece, and Molly emerges from the haze in front of an immense palace. It towers over him, long, talon-like spires reaching for the clouds. Ravens are perched on the battlements, some correctly sized, others the size of dwarves, armed with swords and shields and in deep blue plate armour. The outside of the palace, an obsidian shard against midnight sky, isn't fully formed, the edges of the walls fading into the sky around them, and it makes Molly dizzy. Candlelit lanterns flicker shadows along the walls, and Molly’s own shadow stretches far above his person, warped and twisted.

 

“You coming?” Vax says, and Molly shakes off the feeling of thousands of beady eyes and follows. The ravens, peering and tilting their heads as Molly follows Vax, chirp in conversation as they climb the stone steps to the actual door, which is opened by two taller kenku, who bow at Vax’s approach. “Morning.” He says as they pass, and the kenku chirp back.

 

“Can you understand them?” Molly asks, following him through a long, ornate hall, the walls decorated with tapestries depicting the rise of the Raven Queen, the trickery and murder of her husband, and her claiming of the throne. They are overly elaborate - Molly can make out individual strands which are used to make up her hair - and span the entire length of the hall, weaving around balustrades and up the large number of staircases weaving off of the hall.

 

“I can. You might, too, in time.” The same sentries bow as Vax walks past, a few chirping in greeting. Vax chirps back, head tilting a little bit. It’s a little endearing, and soon Molly is smiling as Vax has a long-winded conversation with a kenku by a staircase, a long series of chirps and trills which seem to have some sort of pattern. Vax stands, and the kenku chirps in goodbye as he turns to Molly. “My Lady is this way, follow me.” He walks up one of the staircases, a smaller one that’s been tucked away under the elaborate obsidian and silver monstrosity that Molly is pretty sure would lead to some sort of throne room. The staircase they’re on is simple, little streaks of silver in the stone used to carve the slats, a simple midnight carpet down the middle. It would fit more in a small home than a castle of this size, but Molly’s slightly more intrigued by the way the staircase curves, branching off in every direction, a maze of pathways. Vax, however, seems to know where he’s going, turning around the right corners, always saying hello to the kenku who are stationed there. Some bow, some squawk in excitement, but all of them turn to Vax. They all seem to ask the same question, because the chirps of the little conversation always sound the same, and Vax always ends up a little red-faced.

 

One of the kenku, about the size of Kiri - and, oh, he’ll never see her again, never laugh at her brilliant mimicking - walks over to him, eyes wide. He squats down so that they’re eye to eye, and smiles. “Hello.”

 

The kenku chirps, and bows. “Hello.” They say, but not in Molly’s voice. It’s feminine, the same one that called him through the magical rift.

 

Molly looks at Vax. “Who’s voice is that?” He asks, already aware of the answer.

 

Vax smiles softly, something sweet and emotional. “She’s this way.” He answers, softly, mind elsewhere. Moly follows, waving goodbye to the smaller kenku, who waves back as they turn the corner and disappear.

 

“Can I ask a question, about the kenku?”

 

“Go ahead.”

  
  
“Are they dead, too?” Vax looks back at him, and shrugs.

 

“Some kenku have the ability to pass between the land of the living and the land of the dead. Most don’t discover that until they’re older, but that little one you met just then is looking for her sister, Kiri.”

 

Molly blinks, then laughs. “Seriously? I know-knew, fuck, Kiri’s alive. She’s, she’s fine she’s got a group of friends and everything. We pulled her out of a swamp and got her to safety, she’s fine!”

 

Vax blinks, before whistling, and about five kenku come flapping towards them from around the corner. “She’s alive! Molly knows where Kiri is.”

 

The kenku swarm around him, chirping and squawking and Molly smiles. “Okay, okay, settle down. Kiri’s fine, she’s staying with Gilda and Wallace Shuster in Hupperdook, okay?” At that, the birds start chirping, flapping their wings in excitement. “I guess that means Sending doesn’t go through to the Afterlife, huh?”

 

Vax shakes his head. “Not even for me.”

 

Molly looks at him. “I’m sorry.” The elf shakes his head again, hair shifting in the candlelight.

 

“There’s no need to be.” They both look back at the kenku, and Molly laughs as they hug his legs, their heads no higher than his waist. “I think they like you.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, birds are cool.” He replies, hands moving to hold them closer. “Tell Kiri that Molly is okay and says hi, yeah?” The kenku chirp in response, and run down the hall.

 

One of them, the little one from before, waves at him. “Thank you!” They say, in the same feminine voice that led him here, and disappear.

 

“No problem!” Molly calls. “We should probably keep going.” Vax nods, and continues down the hall. The grandeur of the building remains, but the terrifying face that began in the beginning starts to fade, suits of armour like the one Vax wears no longer along the walls, instead it’s bookshelves and paintings and, beside the door at the end of this hallway, a large glass terrarium, filled with succulents and night-blooming plants, whites and purples bright. From behind the door, the sound of song, the same voice that has followed Molly through the trip through the castle, now in the flesh, behind the black door.

 

“She’s expecting us.” Vax says, pushing the door open, and Molly’s fight or flight fails to decide whether to run or not before the door fully opens.

 

It’s a bedroom, and that throws Molly off guard enough that it’s easy enough for Vax to push him in and shut the door behind them. It’s dark blues and deep greens, so dark that they’d appear black anywhere else but, within the confines of the dark stone, are bright and vibrant with colour. A long, plush-looking rug leads past an immense bed, unmade sheets half falling to the floor, silk and fleece and piles of pillows and so comfortable looking. There’s a desk with a stack of books, a few inks and quills and, by a wardrobe, singing to herself, is the Raven Queen.

 

She is not as Molly expects. She’s not in armour, or bearing a crown of thorns, or with outstretched wings the size of elves. Instead, her oilslick hair is in a long braid, which brushes against the dark blue sleep robe she wears, catching a little on the tie. And she’s dancing as she sings, eyes closed as the words to some old folk song in a language Molly doesn’t recognise bounce off the walls. She’s smiling, bright and open as she spins, the words faster and faster still, before ending with a bang and a solid thud as her foot hits the floor.

 

From behind Molly comes the sound of applause, and he looks back to see Vax clapping, a true smile on his face. The Raven Queen starts, eyes flying open, and she laughs, spinning one more time for good effort. A pang of sadness hits Molly in the chest as he’s reminded of Jester, her big smile and bigger heart, and he applauds too in an attempt to distract himself from the burn in his eyes. She bows once, and then straightens, arms open, eyes bright.

 

“My champion.” She says, and a shiver races down Molly’s spine as Vax rushes past him, and she crushes herself against his chest, laughing. “Oh, I missed you.”

 

“I wasn’t gone for long.” He replied, and she visibly squeezes tighter in reply. “I found him, just where you said he was going to be.” The Raven Queen looks up at Vax, then at Molly. Her face shifts in awe, then in joy.

 

“Mollymauk, come here.” One slender hand extends, and as if pulled by an invisible force he moves, hand reaching out to hers. Her hand is warm when he takes it, soft and giving and alive, and it kind of scares Molly that he expected otherwise. “How are you, darling? Feeling okay?”

 

Molly nods, unsure how to vocalise the awe and unease battling for control, but she seems to see it, because her other hand moves to his face, eyes taking in his face. “I-I’m fine, Your Majesty. Really.” He says, attempting to convince her.

 

“I understand, Mollymauk. I was human once, too.” She says, and the vague memory of that long-winded take of her ascension comes flooding back in clarity. “It’s okay.” Her face is warm and welcoming, and he smiles. “Anyway, darling, I did send for you for a reason. I’m sure Vax'ildan explained everything?” She leads him away from Vax - Vax'ildan, that name sounds so familiar, and it’s killing him - towards the large window at the end of the room, overlooking the afterlife. From above, it looks like a mosaic, clearly divided realms in which souls arrive, little balls of light floating towards greens and blues and golds. There’s a small white space amongst the colours, and the sight of it feels oddly familiar.

 

“Is that-”

 

“The Moonweaver’s? Yes. She calls you, doesn’t she.” It’s more a statement than a question, and the Raven Queen’s hands squeeze his hand. “It’s alright, darling. You don’t have to do what I asked.”

 

Molly blinks, frowning. “No- There seems to be a mistake. I, uh, pardon me, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

The Raven Queen, living up to her name, tilts her head in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

 

There’s a cough, and the pair turn to look at Vax, who is doing a terrible job of attempting to look sorry. “My apologies, my Lady, it never came up.” Vax smirks where he stands, and Molly remembers long enough about his existence that he recognised the look on his face.

 

“My apologies, Mollymauk, I was under the impression that you were aware of my proposition.” She says, face caught between understanding for Molly and something carnal for Vax.

 

“Well, now you have me interested. Tell me more about this proposition of yours.” The Raven Queen smiles, eyes bright, and leads him back towards the centre of the room, bare feet rapping softly on the stone floor.

 

Her fingers tap a rhythm into his hand, and the weight of death and afterlife seems to lift when she looks back at him. “Well, I’m not _quite_ sure if you are aware, Mollymauk, but the world is far more unusual than us deities had anticipated.”

 

“Please remember that I woke up in a shallow grave.”

 

She laughs, throwing her head back, shoulders shaking. “Oh, you humour me, Mollymauk.” She leads him into the very centre, stopping beneath an extravagant series of carvings on the ceiling. They radiate with a magic that even Molly’s non-magic self can feel, something sharp and heady like good wine or the sharp crackle of one of Caleb’s spells. “Something is coming, and us deities aren’t able to cross the Divine Gate. Champions, however, are perfectly able to do our will.”

 

“And you… want… me?”

 

“Yes. Never had a tielfing before.” She says matter of factly, but the slow slide of her robe off her right shoulder has Molly’s head spinning.

 

“ _Had_ a tiefling?”

 

“Well, not many offer themselves in my service, and while Sehanine does have the ultimate claim over your very pretty soul, you can overrule that.”

 

“The Moonweaver has claim?” Molly frowns, and the Raven Queen - because, yes, this very human woman in front of him is the herald of Death itself, no matter how her smile or incredibly soft robe makes him forget - shrugs.

 

“It’s a way to keep everyone happy. The one you called to in life will keep you whole in death. All who pass through to the afterlife do get a chance to change their mind, if they so wish. I am always welcoming to those who wish to pledge themselves to me.”

 

“Oh.”

 

She pats him on the arm. “Take your time. This is the afterlife, you are in no rush.”

 

~~~

 

Molly is perched on a bench in a garden filled with blooms when he sees an army of kenku and clerics - a cacophony of humans and gnomes and elves and even a firbolg - rushing into the castle.

 

Molly gets up and pulls a cleric aside, a dwarf with a thick black beard and twilight eyes. “What’s going on? Why the crowd?”

 

The dwarf laughs. “The slaver Lorenzo is dead! The Lady is going to _tear him to shreds_.”

 

“Wait, wait wait wait, Lorenzo is dead?”

 

“Yes! A wizard boy burned his eyes out! Now we better hurry up, I can only see so far back.” The dwarf drags him into the castle, taking a sharp right turn into a chamber that looks like an amphitheatre, with rows upon rows of benches looking down onto a stone platform. On one side is a giant, black throne, sharp and intimidating, with a stool on the left side. There’s an archway in the middle, and on the other side a summoning circle, stark white against the stone.

 

Most of the benches were packed, but two seats towards the front were taken by the cleric yelling, “Anyone takes those front seats and I’ll kill ‘em again!” They turned to him. “Well, come on. Best seats in the house, they are.”

 

Molly follows them down the steps, a few kenku chirping at him in hello. He waves back, then slides into his seat. “I’m Mollymauk, Mollymauk Te-”

 

“Tealeaf. Yeah, we know about you.” The dwarf holds out their hand. “Name’s Devash Ashfall. Pleasure to properly meet you, Mister Tealeaf.”

 

Molly grins. “Call me Molly.”

 

A drum beat begins, hard and heavy, and a Goliath cleric on the other side of the room begins a chant.

 

Molly doesn’t understand the language, nor does he recognise it. It isn’t multilayered like Infernal or molasses-smooth like the language Caleb and Yasha share, something primal and guttural and fierce which makes Molly’s very soul stand on edge, uncertain of the chanting crowds before him.

 

As the chant heightens, louder and louder, Molly sees a figure move from the archway, shrouded in black feathers, hooded with something that looks like a raven’s head. The hood is pushed back, and the clerics roar with something primal as Vax’ildan reveals his face, hair braided back in a warrior’s braid, a thick line of black paint down his chin, and a thicker one across his eyes. The same lines continue down his bare arms, sharp and bearing a meaning that makes Molly a little nervous.

 

He raises his hand, and the roar stops. “Clerics! Kenku! Court of the Raven Queen! Today, we seek justice for the fallen, for those who suffered without purpose, for those who died before their time. In this pit, the fate of the Oni Lorenzo, slaver, torturer and murderer, will be decided.” The clerics begin to call out, a few for blood, a few with curses. One kenku in robes is squawking a storm, flapping their wings with such force that Molly’s hair is being blown into his eyes. “He has tainted our Lady’s domain with bloodshed, has cleaved lives from the material plane long before they were meant to leave it, and has desecrated holy lands for his own gain.”

 

“Tear him apart!” Someone yells from the other side.

 

“We are not the only ones who seek vengeance with this Oni! The Stormlord, the Archeart, the Moonweaver and the Wildmother all hold grievances with this creature, and have tasked the Lady with seeking out a fair and true justice.”

 

“Rip his heart out!” Another cleric yells.

 

“Stop assuming he has one!” Replies another. Tension and uncontrollable fury is radiating off the crowd, and Vax grins, teeth stark white.

 

“Shall we begin?” He says - not yelling, there is no need to when the crowd has fallen silent, voice carrying through the gaps between snarls and the flexing of fingers on daggers - and the crowd roars as the summoning circle lights up.

 

“Slaughter him!”

 

“Spill his blood!”

 

“Make him pay!”

 

The wave of anger and fury is disorienting, and Devash grabs his hand and squeezes. “I know. It’s a lot.”

 

“I never thought clerics could get this bloodthirsty. Like, I know they can but, they’re _clerics.”_

 

“This is why we get bloodthirsty. There is one rule for the lady. Everything has its time. He took that away from so many people, never gave them the chance to become themselves. He is everything we loathe.” Devash’s eyes are on the summoning circle, and Molly looks to it, breath catching in his throat at the sight of Vax’s shadow. It’s changed by the light of the circle - the shadow bears two black wings, but his shoulders are bare.

 

Footsteps echo from through the way Vax came, and the clerics go silent. Devash stands, then so does everyone else. From outside, a bird calls.

 

The Matron emerges from the shadows, hair braided and adorned with silver and bone, a single white quarterstaff on her back, the rest of her covered in a long cloak. She looks at those gathered as she speaks.

 

“I have come from the border with debts to claim.” Her cloak shifts, and what looks like thousands of fireflies move off her body, filling the space. They dart around the space, flickering like a thousand little fires. One of them flickers over to Molly, light illuminating his face.

 

“They recognise you.” Devash says, and Molly looks down at them, then back at the ball of light.

 

“Sorry, I don’t remember you.” Molly says, and the little ball of light lands on his nose-

 

_bloodhorrorcolddarkpainbluetieflingangryfightercomfortingorcbattleoutsidedarkcaravandustpaincuffsholelookseepurplebluegreenbrownsoftmagicsafehomefreenowaitnononono’Molly!’-_

 

Molly blinks rapidly, wiping at his eyes as the ball of light shoots back up. “You were there.” The light bounces in confirmation, then floats back over to the Raven Queen. “It’s been, what, a day?”

 

“Three. More than enough for someone like him.”

 

Molly’s fists clench, and he wipes at his face. “I was too slow.”

 

“This isn’t your fault.” Devash says, one hand comforting against his elbow. “He’s going to get what he de- _oh_.”

 

Molly looks at Devash, then follows their line of sight. “Oh.”

 

Now that the cloud of souls has faded, all of them hovering above the arena, Molly comes to the realisation that he had not met the Raven Queen when he died.

 

That woman had just been a woman, playing her part within the grand scheme of the planes and whatever extracelestial deities controlled all of them.

 

The woman that stands in the arena is The Raven Queen, Death Incarnate, centuries of prayer and worship rolling off her armour like waves of adoration. The soft fabrics and bright eyes are gone, instead replaced with a tunic that looks like it was crafted from the universe itself, lights blinking in and out on its surface. On her chest, shards of bone - Molly is almost certain they are the ribs of an unfortunate creature who faced her and lost - interwoven in a loom that continues down the length of her arms, which are painted with the same symbols as Vax’ildan’s own arms.

 

She bears a cloak which crackles with something which makes the air sharp and bitter, and the ground she steps on cracks and freezes over, bone shards clinking as she steps to the centre, quarterstaff slammed into the ground with a beat which sends echoes through the crowd.

 

“I have come from the border with pain and anguish to pay for. The oni Lorenzo laid hands on a chosen soul, an Aasimar of the Stormlord-”

 

“Let me at him! Let me at him!” Someone yelled, a woman with dark hair and bright eyes from across the arena. Something flashes where she stands, and Molly is reminded far too much of Yasha for him to keep looking.

 

“From the Wildmother, the death of no less than a hundred and fifty firbolgs in the span of two months-”

 

Molly immediately remembers Pumat Sol, his big grin and warm shop and gods above and below Molly would probably miss a blow on purpose if he was told to hit him, let alone carve him open every day for two months.

 

“From the Archeart, the slaughter of a hundred and twenty three of their chosen wizards, all done solely for entertainment-”

 

There is a wail, harsh and grieving and feral, and Molly’s eyes immediately dart to the red-headed woman wailing, her neighbours’ arms wrapped around her. She’s not too far away, and Molly can make out the shape of her nose and the curve of her jaw and the sudden realisation that he’s seen that face before hits him like a punch in the face as the Raven Queen continues, voice echoing in multitudes across the marble arena.

 

“Finally, from the Moonweaver, the deaths of her clerics in numerous attempts to free these souls from the clutches of Lorenzo, and, most notable, the death of Mollymauk Tealeaf, who accompanied those who stopped his reign of destruction.”

 

She points the dark quarterstaff at Molly, and the entire arena turns to look at him, the bright spark of purple in a sea of blues and blacks.

 

“Mollymauk Tealeaf, son of the Moonweaver, how does your murderer deserve to die?”

 

Molly’s hand moves to his chest, and rubs at the scar on his torso, which aches with something that might be regret and might be rage. “He had a glaive. It- it was huge, and stank of blood even when it seemed clean.”

 

She nods once, and slams the staff into the ground. The snow beneath her feet shifts, swirling and shooting up the staff, hardening into ice and forming the most terrifyingly gorgeous weapon Molly had seen. Standing at roughly seven feet tall, the blades of the weapon were all ice, stark and glinting in the light. A few shards ripped out the sides, and the sharp points made Molly both nervous and excited. That seems to be the feeling from the audience, because a few clerics whistle low in appreciation.

 

“A fitting weapon for a monster, don’t you think?” The Matron raises the weapon in thanks in Molly’s direction, before slicing it through the snow at her feet. “Clerics! My followers! My believers! Today, we seek vengeance! Today, the snow will fall red in the afterlife, and the traitor of existence, the bloodied soul, the oni Lorenzo, will meet his fate!” With a dexterity and speed that sends chills through the audience, the glaive is swung above her hand, and the staff side hits the ground with a heavy thud as the summoning circle pulses. “Summon the oni!”

 

It flashes as she moves, starting out like a heartbeat, then fast and faster as primal magics fill the space, tousling hair and whipping at clothes and throwing snow into the air as a primal roar echoes through the space, sending fear racing down Molly’s spine. The urge to run is right there, and the reason he doesn’t do so is solely because of Devash’s arm on his, holding him in place.

 

“He can’t hurt you, Mol. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

 

The looming shadow of Lorenzo appears in the light, and the urge to run gets stronger. “Let me go, let me go please.”

 

“Mol, I promise you. He won’t hurt you.”

 

“But he’s _right there_.”

 

“He has to get through the Matron first.”

 

The light drops, and in the summoning circle is Lorenzo, on his knees, something faint and arcane dragging his wrists to the edge of the circle. He looks up, dark blue skin and piercings on display, and leers at the Matron. “Well, hello little lady. What have we here?” Molly expects the crowd to keep roaring, but they are silent. Molly can hear his own jewellery jingling.

 

Vax growls, wings furling and unfurling in time with his fists.

 

The Matron, however, cocks her head, and Molly is close enough to see her grin, pointed canines peeking past dark lips. “Lorenzo, you’ve been misbehaving.”

 

His arms flex, the chains rattling, and though some of the audience flinches the Matron stands like stone, eyes on the oni. “You’ve heard of me. Good. I’m a fan of an appreciative audience.”

 

She laughs, and it sounds like a flock of birds cawing. “Oh, appreciative is not the right word, little one.”

 

He snarls. “Then what is this? A game? You know what I can do, why stand there and test me?”

 

“Show respect!” Vax roars, wings flaring, but the Matron holds out one hand, and he stands down, wings folding away.

 

“Test you? That implies that you’re failing, Lorenzo. But if it is a battle you want, just say the word.”

 

He growls. “Unchain me, and I’ll give you a battle.”

 

She smiles, and slams the base of the glaive into the sand. “So be it. Vax’ildan, if you’d please.”

 

He bows, then flies up, until he’s almost level with Molly. The goliath cleric from before stands, staff in hand, and beats it against the ground in a familiar rhythm. Just like the first chant, Molly doesn’t understand this, but he can tell from Lorenzo’s face that he does, as the blue pales a little, and he begins to look around the audience. Molly freezes as their eyes meet, and Lorenzo leers. “Does your chest still hurt, example?”

 

“Don’t look at him!” Devash roars, pulling out a dagger from Matron knows where.

 

“Hands off, dickbag!” Someone else yells, standing so that Molly can’t meet his eyes, but the fear and the terror have burned the sight of Lorenzo snarling into his memory. Feathers fall into his lap, and Kiri’s sister pokes into view. She chirps, and presses her head under his hand.

 

It doesn’t help, however, when Lorenzo shouts over the din. “Your friends didn’t seem to learn from your demise, tiefling! That pretty human girl begged me to let her live, like a coward.”

 

Kiri’s sister falls out of his lap as he leaps towards Lorenzo, fangs bared and furious. Hands grab at his shoulder, and Molly forgoes words for just roaring in fury. He can see past the group of clerics holding him back, and he can see the Matron’s gaze turn to ice. She drops the glaive and walks towards Lorenzo, a fist colliding with his jaw at such a speed that the crack echoes through the arena, cutting off the shriek. “Liar!”

 

Molly stops fighting against the clerics, eyes a little wide. “What?”

 

The Matron turns to him, certainty in her eyes. “They’re fine. The Wildmother sent her best to make sure they’re okay.”

 

The fight falls out of Molly, and his legs give out as relief hits him. Clerics and kenku catch him, and their whispers are a comfort as those two words bounce around his head. _They’re fine, they’re fine, they’re fine._

 

A soft _fwoomp_ sounds, and soft feathers curl around him. “They’re okay, its okay, do you want me to help you out?” Vax asks, eyes warm with concern.

 

Molly looks up at him, steel forming behind bright red eyes. “I want to watch him pay.” He clears his throat, then stands. “Matron, I want to watch him suffer like he made others suffer. I want him to know what it’s like to lose everything. I want him to know what it’s like to have a glaive in your chest.”

 

The Matron grins, and flexes one hand. The glaive, once abandoned, goes flying into her grasp. “As you wish.” She swings once, and the crowd - Vax and Molly included - roar as the blade collides with Lorenzo’s neck.

 

Blood splatters on stone as he cries out in pain, and the audience shrieks as his head falls from his shoulders, his corpse hitting the ground soon after. It bounces, spilling dark ichor, once, twice, three times, and once it comes to rest at the Matron’s feet a soft pop sounds, and the head is returned to Lorenzo’s shoulders.

 

“Neat little trick, isn’t it?” She says as Lorenzo gasps, realizing he can breathe again.

 

“What-what are you?” Lorenzo asks, and it’s very satisfying to see fear fall between the piercings and tusks.

 

“About fuckin’ time!” A cleric jeers.

 

The Matron swings the glaive, splattering Lorenzo with his own blood, and rests the bloodied blade in her palm. The ichor freezes, and shines with a sharpness that makes Molly very excited.

 

“Oh, darling. You didn’t really think you would get away with the slave trade?” The Matron asks, and Vax begins to laugh as eight pairs of wings unfurl from her back, some feathered, some in the same state as Yasha’s own.

 

“Run, boy! Run!” Someone yells, and Lorenzo begins to properly struggle at the chains holding him down.

 

“That was one. How many do you think you have left?” The Matron asks, and as she steps her form flashes, ten feet tall then two feet tall then all bone then all flesh then too many eyes then none at all and Molly is reminded ever so clearly that he stands in the front row of Death’s court. The baying of clerics around him sends shivers of anticipation down his spine, and his hands grip the stone barrier until his knuckles are pale as she struts towards the other end of the arena. “I asked you a question. How many times do you think you need to die?”

 

There is true and proper fear on Lorenzo’s face, and his voice quakes with the horror of comprehension. “I-I don’t know.”

 

“Eight thousand, two hundred and twenty three. One death for each life you destroyed, one for each child you stopped from being born, one for each weeping soul that I had to see enter the afterlife. Of this repayment, I will take eight thousand, two hundred and twenty two.” The Matron looks right at Molly, and in the snow twin scimitars, curved and achingly familiar appear in the snow. “Mollymauk Tealeaf, son of the Moonweaver. The oni Lorenzo killed you for your bravery and courage. By the laws of this realm, you are promised a death of the accused, which you can take by either your own hand or a champion's. What will it be?"

 

He looks at the Matron, then at Lorenzo, who seems to be trying to get some semblance of an upper hand going. “I won’t need my weapons.” He says, coldly. “You can go first, my Lady.”

 

She smiles, then holds out her hand. A shard of ice the size of him but much, _much_ taller shoots out of the ground, almost splitting Lorenzo in two. He roars in pain, and the shard vanishes into the snow as his head droops, silent, leaving the dark drip of ichor as the wound closes.

 

“Two.”

 

The next fifty seven fall in quick succession, but there’s only so many ways you can dismember a person, so the Matron calls Vax’ildan to her side, and he spends a good few hours using him as target practise, daggers that seem to vanish within Lorenzo’s flesh never piercing the same spot twice. A few clerics - some long gone, others only recently dead - have their turn, taking the lives owed for their clansmen and descendants and, in one heartbreaking instance, for their child.

 

And then.

 

And then.

 

_And then_.

 

The others have gone through four hundred and eighty three, and the Matron looks to Molly. “Your turn, moonchild.”

 

He moves away from the crowd, and the stone barrier parts, revealing a staircase he’s sure wasn’t there before. He walks, coat fluttering around his calves as he steps down into the bloodied snow, still crunchy under his boots. The scimitars lie in the snow, and he reaches for them on instinct. They feel right in his hands, familiar handles replicated exactly, but they also feel wrong. There is no singing of the blades, no balance, no muscle memory telling him just how these blades move.

 

These are not his scimitars.

 

He spins them, pointed end facing down, and thrusts them into the snow. “I don’t need no blades, my Lady.” He turns to her. “Mind dropping the chains?”

 

She looks him over, voice echoing with concern and a millennia of existence. “Are you sure?”

 

He nods, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I want him to understand what he did to me. I can’t do that if he’s tied down.”

 

Lorenzo, somehow still incapable of understanding just how messed up he is, chuckles low. “Still trying to prove yourself? Be the bigger man? Do you forget, _example_ , that I cut you clean in two with a single strike?”

 

“Did you forget that it was my friends who sent your damned ass into this arena?” Molly snarls back. From the base of the staircase, Vax grins.

 

“This is a fight for the ages, my Lady. Let him go.”

 

A long, thin hand wraps around a shoulder, and concern settles within the deep greens of the Matron’s eyes. “If he ever gains the upper hand, you clench your hand twice, I stop the fight. Understand?” Molly nods once in understanding, and she squeezes her hand as the chains begin to flicker. “You have fifteen seconds to prepare.” She says, before disappearing in a flash of feathers, reappearing on the throne at the other end. She sits, wings unfurled in a halo of power. “Mollymauk Tealeaf, you wish for this sacrifice to be paid in battle. So it shall be paid.”

 

The rune circle flickers, staying dark for that little bit longer every time.

 

“Come on Molly!” Devash’s voice echoes through the arena.

 

Lorenzo begins to huff and growl.

 

“Tear him apart!” Yells another.

 

Molly’s feet grind into bloodied snow, the soft sound of slush like music.

 

“With us as witnesses, let the battle begin!” A slamming sound, and the magic disappears.

 

Lorenzo charges.

 

As does Molly.

 

Lorenzo moves to swipe, but Molly, expecting it, slides beneath still-recovering legs and kicks out, striking his ankle and forcing Lorenzo’s knee to the ground. With the same movement, Molly grabs at the bloodied garb Lorenzo wears and pulls, grinning as it slides up and around his neck. With a sharp twist, the fabric tightens, and Molly half-wonders if he’ll be able to choke him to death when Lorenzo’s hand grabs the front and pulls, fabric torn in two jagged pieces.

 

“Come on Tealeaf!” Someone yells as Lorenzo turns, and Molly just manages to duck out of the way as a pierced and taloned hand comes crashing down into the spot where his head used to be.

 

“You’re slippery, tiefling. I can’t wait to see your insides again.” Lorenzo growls, and Molly laughs once, showmanship falling into place like an old coat. He perches on a piece of ice left over from a death somewhere in the fifteen hundreds which hadn’t quite defrosted all the way, and grins, fangs bared.

 

“That implies that you’re able to catch me.” He then turns to the clerics, arms outstretched. “What say you, friends? Do you think Lorenzo can catch a little ol’ tiefling like me?” The crowd cheers, some laughing, some yelling words which are lost in the cacophony. “And what say you, oni? Think you can actually catch your prey without sneaking up on them?”

Someone laughs once, and Lorenzo growls.

 

“I should have mangled your fucking corpse!” He rushes at the ice, and Molly leaps into the air. He isn’t fast enough, however, and a thick hand wraps around his ankle, and he’s thrown into the ground, back slamming against the snow.

 

“Come on Mol!”

 

Lorenzo’s face looming overhead sends panic coursing through Molly, but anger and a need to get back at the man who took his friends reigns supreme, and Molly regains his senses fast enough to roll out of the way. He can vaguely see Vax half-perched on the barricade, ready to dive in at any second. The concern is surprisingly comforting. “Why won’t you just lie down and let me rip you apart?”

 

“I hardly know you well enough to get on my knees for you.” Molly snaps back, and a few clerics laugh. Molly slides onto one knee, and his eyes dart around for something to use. The scimitars are close enough, and he darts for them. Lorenzo is faster however, and the oni looms between Molly and the weapons.

 

“It seems you’re at a disadvantage.” He says, picking up one of the blades. The ice it’s made of shines like diamonds, and shatters like glass as Lorenzo bends it in half, shattering the blade. He picks up the second, and does the same. The shards of ice and snow fall back into the ground, none of the shards sizeable enough for use. Over his shoulder, Molly vaguely notices the Raven Queen, standing now, wings shifting, but the fear in his gut is clouding his vision.

 

“I’ve faced worse than you.” Molly’s single step back betrays him.

 

Lorenzo snarls, stepping forward. “Oh no, tiefling. You might have survived worse than me, but I’m the reason you’re in this pit. I own you, and that isn’t something you can get rid of.” He steps forward again, and Molly steps back in time. “You know, I was bein’ nice when I left your body in one piece, but I might have to show you just what my specialty is so you learn your damn lesson.” Lorenzo scoops his hand into the snow, and pulls up snow and shards of ice. He throws them, and Molly doesn’t gratify him with a scream as one strikes him in the back of the thigh.

 

A flap of wings, and Vax is now in the pit beside the Raven Queen. Molly can vaguely see them talking, see the Queen’s arm move to hold Vax back. He can see the ice glaive a few feet from the base of the throne.

 

The glaive.

 

Well, at least the universe is poetic.

 

He has one shot, and Lorenzo must see the courage tinting crimson eyes because he snarls, throwing a gnarled hand in Molly’s direction. Molly, however, is already gone, sprinting for the glaive in the snow. He reaches it and goes to lift it up. He tries again. And again. It’s too heavy.

 

And Lorenzo is charging, shards of ice flying past Molly’s face, nicking at his clothes and his skin and one sinking into his left arm. Molly makes the mistake of looking up at him, and he’s immediately drawn back to that moment, that singular moment, Beau’s voice in his ears and blood in his mouth. The same fear rips through his body, and his fingers slip on the grip a little. How does Yasha even do this?

 

Gods above.

 

_Yasha_.

 

The thought of Yasha, alone, cold, afraid, chases the fear out of Molly and replaces it with a blinding rage, and with a strength he didn’t know he had, Molly lifts up the glaive and swings blindly.

 

It collides with flesh, deep blue flesh, sinking past piercings and scars and deep into the gut of Lorenzo.

 

Molly, suddenly imbued with the power of a successful revenge, grins. “Any last words?” He parrots, and Lorenzo snarls.

 

“I’m going to rip your guts out, boy.” Molly snarls back, and puts all his strength into lifting Lorenzo off his feet, letting gravity do the work.

 

“I’d like to see you try.” There’s a terrible, horrifying crack, and Lorenzo shrieks as his ribs give way. He grips at the handle of the glaive, reaching for Molly, then stops fighting. A few painful seconds, crowd silent, and Lorenzo’s body vanishes, reappearing, bound, in the summoning circle.

 

“Fuck yeah Mollymauk!” Someone yells, and the audience cheers, a cacophony of hollers and foot stops and applause as they rise to their feet. Molly drops the glaive, half-slick with rapidly freezing blood, and laughs.

 

He takes one step forward, then another.

 

Then promptly passes out.


End file.
